Tactics Ogre: The Knight of Lodis
by Ollen70
Summary: The chronicles of Alphonse's legendary journey across the island of Ovis, and his confrontation with the archangel Shaher - as well as the life-changing implications of his quest.
1. Journey of the Faithful

The characters and basic plot line in this story do not belong to me, but the dialogue is more or less original.  
  
Chapter One: Journey of the Faithful - -Ollen70  
  
What ill fate brought him to this place, after such struggle and hardship? Was this his punishment for his sins, to be cast into such a desolate, if not beautiful, part of the world? The last few battles had gone well in the end, but been treacherous nonetheless. Of the soldiers, two had fallen and five more were badly wounded, prompting him to call for a rest until the priests and clerics in the battalion could tend to them.  
Rictor Lasanti stood in the Turgis mountains, eyes turned westward over the snowfields. For a moment, his thoughts turned back to that fateful day, when he had begun this damned mission in the first place.  
  
Alphonse Loher followed him reluctantly through the port, his eyes everywhere at once. He smiled indulgently at his younger friendÕs curious, but wary, nature. No doubt he would be more comfortable once they were aboard the ships for the island of Ovis, their first serious assignment. At first Rictor had wondered if pressing his father, Duke of Felis, into allowing Alphonse to fight under his command, had been a wise choice. As a friend, the thought of leading the younger, less experienced soldier into what could likely be his death, was not a happy thought.  
Ever since they were children, Rictor had been the wise authoritarian, holding Alphonse back when he was provoked, mending him when he was injured. Securing a few stray wisps of brown-blonde hair that had somehow manages to escape his braid, he remembered that first da, after he had been appointed the rank of High Priest in the church of Lodis, and had learned that Alphonse as well received a promotion from squire to soldier. Walking side by side in the gardens outside the grand Cathedral in Galius, one of the largest, most noteworthy cities on the continent of Galacia.   
Wearing new light blue robes embroidered in white, Rictor was certain he looked his station. His father was certainly bound to be happy about it, but it had been quite some time since Rictor had cared even remotely what the Duke thought of him. Even still, he was proud to be chosen as the leader of the troops to be sent to Ovis, and glad he still had enough influence to persuade his father to include Alphonse as a captain.  
  
  
Ovis was an island to the west of Galius, located across the Esperar sea. Several years ago, it had been the focal point for a rather violent reformation. The lower half of the island was called Anser, consisting of several villages and small cities. The upper half, Ranaculus, held old fortresses and citadels for the landed Elite. Though Anser had initially resisted, Ranaculus submitted to the reformation without any struggle. Now, years later, Anser was thriving though trade with Lodis while the glory of Ranaculus was beginning to dwindle. Though Rictor was doing his best to explain all of this to his friend, AlphonseÕs mind was clearly elsewhere. With a deep sigh, Rictor gave up trying.  
ÒGo visit her, just one last time at least. You owe her that much.Ó  
ÒI most certainly do not.Ó Came the obstinate reply. TheyÕd left the foreground of the cathedral and were now headed toward the ports of Felis. ÒIt wouldnÕt matter to her anyway. You know that.Ó  
ÒStill..Ó He said, feeling he should protest rather than actually having any substance to back up a protestation. ÒShe is your mother, after all.Ó Alphonse had never been on particularly good terms with his mother, who hotly objected to his joining the military, as his late father had done. ÒItÕs enough that youÕve taken on the name ÔLoher.ÕÓ Here Rictor knew he was on dangerous ground. The new name, given to him after his promotion to the rank of soldier was a matter of much internal debate. No matter what Alphonse said, both of them knew quite well that he bore no hatred for either of his parents. It would have been well within his right to maintain the family name ÔTartare,Õ especially of the lineage attached to it, and it wasnÕt through spite that heÕd forsaken that opportunity. Rictor suspected that his friend, as he himself had often been wont to do, wished to prove himself alone, without help from the past.  
ÒHmm? WhatÕs this?Ó Alphonse said distractedly as a woman called out to him. The brown haired, well-built young man stopped before a small table, looking over the cards and other oddments upon it.  
ÒShall I tell your fortune, young master? I soldier like yourself should always be looking for clues to fate, before battle. For such a handsome boy, I ask only ten Goth.Ó Seeing AlphonseÕs interest, Rictor laughed lightly.  
ÒWell, when youÕve decided youÕre ready to listen to me, IÕll be on board our ship. It might be wise for you to do so sooner rather than later.Ó He added as an after thought. ÒWeÕll be setting off soon enough, you may as well settle in.Ó  
ÒAlright. I wonÕt be long.ÓWith that Alphonse turned to the old woman, setting a lone, gold coin on the table. As a man of faith, Rictor had no real believe in fortune tellers. To him, they were all channelers of a less-than-desireable nature. At the same time, he hadnÕt before seen one work. And from the crosses and various icons on and about her table, Rictor doubted if the woman were a messenger of evil. Still, he moved ahead a bit and made as though to inspect the contents of another booth, not wishing to be caught gawking.  
ÒSix fates determine your path in life, whispering in the recesses of your mind... They take form and scream out, ÔLet it begin!ÕÓ The woman peered deep into her crystals, watching the writhing shapes Rictor could only barely see from a distance. He was impressed in spite of himself. Perhaps, like the wizards, sirens, and priests, the woman might actually have some sort of magic after all.  
ÒThe Bearer asks, ÔBear which Burden?Õ Resolve, truth, sacrifice, or affection?Ó  
ÒWell, I...Ó Alphonse had obviously been taken off guard, expecting, as Rictor had, that he would be receiving information rather than supplying it. While the woman watched patiently, Alphonse drew himself up a bit. ÒThe burden of Truth...Ó he said at last, apparently content with his choice.Ó  
ÒThe Wanderer asks, ÔWalk which Path?Õ Shall it be one of belief, freedom, wealth, or longevity?Ó  
ÒBelief.Ó Came the less hesitant reply.  
ÒThe Builder asks, ÔDesign which Plan?Õ One of strife, wisdom, hatred, or prosperity?Ó Here, Alphonse paused again. He was wondering, Rictor had no doubt, what kind of man would choose hatred? He found he rarely had trouble reading the thoughts of his friend. Years earlier, he might have asked that same naive question himself.  
ÒWisdom.Ó Was the response, clear and calm when it finally came.  
ÒAlright, my boy. The Sage asks, ÔSwear which Oath?Õ An oath of purity, revenge, victory, or fruition?Ó  
ÒPurity.Ó He said, once again firm. The woman's brows perked slightly.  
ÒThat is a difficult oath to keep. You will find, by and by, that the choices you make here will bind to you more than you might expect.Ó When he made no reply, she merely shrugged. Peering once more at the crystals, she began anew. ÒThe Leader asks, ÔShare which Vision?Õ Sadness, mercy, terror, or bliss?Ó  
ÒMercy.Ó  
ÒAnd lastly, the most prevalent question of all. The Almighty asks, ÔShape which Future?Õ Will it be a future of glory, peace, change, or control?Ó  
ÒIt will be a future of change.Ó   
Rictor was surprised at this. He had expected to hear Alphonse choose ÔpeaceÕ because of his malleable nature. The fact that Alphonse had said ÔchangeÕ so completely caused him to raise his eyes, expected to find his friend watching him. Instead, Alphonse looked toward the horizon. Every day for the past few weeks he himself had felt the growing winds of change. Shaking his head slightly, he turned to go. Time alone could tell, but with a sinking feeling, he knew that Alphonse might be right.  
  
ÒSo you understand, then? I wonÕt have to repeat myself five or six times?Ó Rictor had meant it to be a lighthearted jest. Instead, he only sounded annoyed. Over the past two hours, while the rocking of the boat disturbed his stomach heavily, he had done his best to fill Alphonse in on the mission at hand without giving away too many particulars. There were certain aspects of their stay on Ovis that the younger man simply didnÕt need to worry about, and he was sure that if Alphonse knew, he wouldnÕt be able to help himself.  
ÒHmm?Ó Alphonse said, slightly dazed. If he stirred his food around the china plate any more and made one more scraping noise, Rictor wouldnÕt be held accountable for what happened. Noticing his friendÕs grimace, Alphonse laughed dully and set down the fork. ÒIÕm not worried, if thatÕs what you mean. I think I should be.Ó His eyes clouded slightly, whether because of ill-disguised concern or simple thought, Rictor couldnÕt tell. ÒAfter what that fortune woman said - that what waits for me here is bigger than what any mortal has had to face alone since the Legendary Ogre Battle. But then, who believes fortune tellers anyway, right?Ó  
To this, Rictor made no reply. There was an odd sense of foreboding in the cramped little cabin on board the ship. The sooner the mission was over with, the happier he would be.  
ÒIs the fighting in Ranaculus all that bad?Ó Alphonse asked quietly, with the air of one who knows the answer already. ÒIs there a real need for us to be doing this?Ó  
ÒThere seems to be a new power rising in the north. Attacks on Anser are becoming more frequent, and with our need for trade, it is in everyoneÕs best interest that we deal with the problem as soon as we can.Ó After the bitter wounds of the Reformation had begun to heal, Lodis promised that any threats on Ovis would be taken care of by their own forces. As far as the powers in the Holy Lodis empire were concerned, Ovis was under itÕs protection now. Lodis was the true power in the world now, the nation to which Felis and many others paid homage.  
ÒBandit attacks on the city Sotavento arenÕt acceptable. Since itÕs the hub of trade and the mainstay of AnserÕs wealth, we have to preserve it by whatever means necessary. The south needs us, now more than ever.Ó  
ÒI suppose.Ó Alphonse replied, without conviction. ÒEven still, I have my doubts...Ó  
ÒWell, lets hear them.Ó Rictor replied, once more sounding angrier than he intended to. More than anything, he wished he could be rid of the tenseness in his shoulders and stomach.  
ÒI - if I could come right out and explain it, I would. But thereÕs something... wrong.. with all of this.Ó  
Not really understanding why, Rictor fought down a sudden pang of guilt. There was more that Alphonse didnÕt - and couldnÕt - know. His mission was less with the political influences on the island and more with an old superstition that might be responsible for the problems Ovis faced. Either way, it was of a secretive sort, and as much as he eased the mind of his friend with comforting words, the more uneasy he himself began to feel.  
ÒI.. think I should go out on deck for a bit, if you donÕt mind.Ó  
To this Rictor nodded silently, watching the door for a long while after it had closed again. He gestured the guards away and stood alone.  
  
Alphonse too thought of that night as he watched his ally on the snowy turf. It was an unrealized coincidence that Rictor thought of it then, but the memories of the past were seldom far from the front of AlphonseÕs mind. The rocking of the ship and the lowering of the sky in the night were fresh suddenly, as he thought of himself pressed up against the railing in the driving rain.  
  
How long he leaned there, eyes on the black crests of the ocean, Alphonse did not know. He did his best to clear any and all thought away and remain at peace, but that was a more difficult task than he had first imagined.  
There is was again, that strange feeling he couldnÕt name. It seemed like the flashes in his mind of people and places were important. At least, he might see them again some day and understand them then. A very strong memory was lodged just behind his eyes, but every attempt he made to dwell on it caused it to fracture into a thousand pieces and scatter, reconstituting itself whenever he turned his attention somewhere else. All he could retain is that it involved a cold place. Maybe a mountain top, but he was far from sure. The sun was bright, shining on the snow in a way that he hadnÕt remembered ever seeing in his life. None of this was particularly remarkable, save for the overwhelming sense of grief that accompanied it.  
ÔPerhaps IÕd better try to rest,Õ he thought at last, desperate to free himself from these strange and disturbing images. He wasnÕt particularly anxious to return to the stuffy cabins of the ship, though it would be warmer there for certain. Rictor was understanding, and wouldnÕt trouble him with petty details while if he made for his hammock with enough resolve. The details were important, he knew, except that they werenÕt as urgent as his bodyÕs cries for blissful sleep. A jarring crash from the ship brushed all such thoughts from him.  
  
ÒHow bad was the damage?Ó Rictor asked, concerned but not really upset. Anger was pointless. However it was that the ship had holed. it was certainly no one personÕs fault. They were sailing now through the Lutra islands, the small forbearers of Ovis. All of them were surrounded by rocks and other natural defenses, making navigation in any weather a challenge. The downpour that faced them was not helping matters.   
ÒIt isnÕt severe, but itÕs enough to halt our progress. WeÕve landed alongside on of the nearest islands and the mariners are doing their best to make repairs.Ó Alphonse said it tiredly. Rictor looked at him with a flash of concern. true, the voyage was hard on all of them, but the weariness that Alphonse radiated was downright biting.   
ÒCommander Lasanti!Ó Lara, one of RictorÕs personal soldiers, burst into the cabin all at once. Despite the ink bottle he befouled as he leapt from his desk, he attempted not to appear abashed by her sudden arrival. At any rate, the urgency in her voice and visage was such that he doubted if she noticed anyway.  
ÒWeÕre being attacked!Ó  
ÒWhat?Ó Alphonse was at her side in less than a moment, his sword already free. ÒDo you know who it is?Ó  
ÒProbably the White Fang troops.Ó Rictor said, thinking back to his briefing. HeÕd like to have chastised the his friend for not paying attention to him earlier. Instead, he drew his own weapon, a polished rapier, and made for the doorway. ÒWe were requested by the people of Anser. TheyÕve benefited most from the supervision of Lodis and Felis. Ranaculus must be behind this Ôwarm welcome.Õ The White Fang is the guard of their Lord Protector, Naris Batraal. Anser and Ranaculus have been at war for decades, but the ferocity of the latest attacks prompted the Duke to send us here.Ó  
ÒIf the situation is so serious, why didnÕt more ships come?Ó AlphonseÕs eyes were narrowed in a mixture of concern and scorn at the mention of such base politic.  
ÒMy father has become more tightfisted as of late.Ó Rictor replied with a touch of bitterness. ÒHe did, however, allot us enough Goth to hire soldiers once weÕve arrived. I donÕt believe he meant for us to come into need so soon.Ó  
ÒWhich is why theyÕve chosen to strike so soon.Ó AlphonseÕs eyes narrowed further. ÒI wonder how they knew?Ó  
ÒIt doesnÕt matter now. See to your weapon, and keep your eyes sharp.Ó   
ÒYou! Bastard sons of whores of Felis! Stand and die like men!Ó The cry came from a brusque man in a horned helmet. ÒWeÕre here to show you the finer qualities of the warriors of Ovis!Ó  
ÒWe are the Order of the Sacred Flame, sent to Ovis on account of the Holy Lodis Empire!Ó Rictor called back, unafraid. The man before him was obviously some lowly mercenary, killing and pillaging for the pleasure of it. The several soldiers who solidified out of the mist on the crags above them, however, seemed undernourished and ill-prepared for a confrontation with true knights. This kind of show of force had succeeded in demoralizing potential enemies in the past, and he was confident that it would prove effective now.   
The element of surprise might not still be on their side, if there were more soldiers concealed farther inland, but it would have served little purpose anyway. The Sacred Flame was here to encourage order, not chase lackeys haphazardly. As the enemy closed in down the rock faces and toward the ship, Rictor and the others raised their weapons automatically.   
ÒWeÕll engage them hand to hand,Ó he said quietly, speaking directly into AlphonseÕs ear. ÒIf you can manage it, take Justin,Ó here he motioned discreetly to the soldier who stood beside Lara, Òand do what you can to maneuver around behind the leader. He wouldnÕt be much of a match for you alone, but I donÕt want to risk anything. Fell him, and the others might break off and run. They arenÕt knights of quality. I wouldnÕt be surprised if most of them have never fought before.Ó Having said all he needed to, Rictor stepped into the fray himself. Being a high priest, he wouldnÕt kill another human, but his prowess with a sword was not to be denied. His thrusting sword was emblazoned with an ivory rose, the crest of the Lasanti family, and he was proud to wield it once more. Taking one bellowing man down with a lunge to the shoulder, he and the other soldiers did their best to draw the enemy out, if only a short distance. Supposing Alphonse was able to reach the bandit leader, a short distance was all they needed.  
While the main of the two units engaged one another, Justin and Alphonse were able to slip far too easily around the press of struggling men and women. One soldier, a haggard man with the beginnings of a beard, spotted them and nearly sounded the alarm, but wasnÕt fast enough. Three strokes between the two of them was enough to silence him forever. The bandit leader fell beneath their blades as well, though he wasnÕt caught off guard. Seeing his sentry fall, his lifted his Francisca and menaced the two, wielding the axe impressively. despite that, he wasnÕt the match Alphonse feared - and half-hoped - he might be. He parried awkwardly and slowly, even for an axe man. AlphonseÕs short sword should have been less than a match for the longer weapon, though he wasnÕt disappointed to be incorrect. The fall of the leader did indeed inspire the other troops that were spared to bolt, though Alphonse doubted if any made it far. the mist and the night were closing quickly, along with the intensity of the storm.  
A laugh on his lips, Alphonse made to look down on his friend and so relish the victory when he saw it. Somehow, the leader must have made plans in case they were overcome. A lone and shadowy figure drew out of the sparse bushes toward RictorÕs position, an arrow fitted to his cross-bow.   
ÒRictor!Ó Not knowing what he could do, Alphonse ran with all speed down toward the small projection where his friend stood. It was his hope that he could lay Rictor out under the shaft. It was the burning sensation in his chest and the look of horror on the High PriestÕs face that told him of his failure. Rictor cried out for him, reaching forward in vain as the waves embraced him quietly, robbing him of whatever he might have heard of RictorÕs shouted orders, or the scrambling soldiers that made their way down the face of the bluffs. The Ocean was his new master, for as long as it chose to claim him.  
  
Ollen70: I donÕt know when IÕll get around to writing the next few chapters, but if IÕm lucky, itÕll be inside of a week. As always, any comments or suggestions are welcome. I donÕt know exactly how many chapters itÕll end up being, but I expect around five at the very least. So, like with all my stories. if you like it, let me know why. If you donÕt like it, let me know why. Thanks for taking the time to read it. =) 


	2. The Sound of Her Voice

For the umpteenth time, I don't own the characters or the basic storyline here. The dialogue is more or less of my own design, just to let you know.  
  
  
Chapter Two -- The Sound of Her Voice  
  
  
Where he was Alphonse didn't know, nor did he particularly care. If this was dying, then it wasn't all that bad, aside from the disorientation. When he finally opened his eyes, he was disappointed. He'd hoped Heaven would be a bit more glorious than this. He couldn't make out specifics of anything - it was still too dark for him to be able to give titles to the shadowy objects here and there. The only items that were distinguishable to him was a golden censor on an end table beside him and a silver chalice and Eucharist plate. Most would have found such things odd, but Alphonse had known Rictor since early childhood and the two had often played in and about the cathedrals in Felis. Perhaps it was that intimate acquaintance with the dim halls, rife with the scent of incense and other reminders of the days long past that had prompted Rictor to seek his future there. Or, more likely, it was because he was the second son of a Duke. In accordance with tradition, the first son in any noble family was named heir to whatever title the family possessed. The second was promised to the church, and the third was often given into the military to seek a fortune in the ways of knighthood.   
In Rictor's case, his older brother had passed away of illness while he was in ordination. Because of this, he was not only priest but heir as well. Alphonse had often been secretly jealous of such prestige. His own lot was not nearly so grand. All nobility in the line Loher belonged to his mother's eldest brother. All he knew of his father was that he was once a knight of moderate repute. Not widely known by any means, but with enough latent influence to ensure Alphonse a good place among knights of the Order of the Sacred Flame.  
All his musings faded with the rising of the sun. The storms of the night before- if indeed it was the night before that the battle had taken place - were gone now. Bright rays transformed the rolling hills into a stratum of brilliant liquid gold. He tried to sit upright for a better view, only to be defeated by a sharp, lancing pain that spread indiscriminantly across his chest. Surrendering to the softness of the bed was bittersweet, and try as he might, he couldn't fight the hold of the white folds around him, looking for all the world like misplaced clouds.   
  
A faint voice broke him once again from any sort of deeper thought he might have established. Full of sleep, he lay quietly, eyes on the ceiling until the voice roused him. He grit his teeth and forced himself upward in one motion, causing the girl in the doorway, for that was who it was, to start. I...I didn't know you were awake...  
Where am I? He asked at last, hoping any kind of conversation would serve to stimulate his mind. What is this place? He already had some basic idea. Most peasants and villagers didn't keep Eucharist materials in their homes. Perhaps he was in the residence of the bishop, or, more likely...  
This is Solea. You're in the church, under the care of the brothers and sisters of our Order. My name is Eleanor. She added almost shyly. As she said this, he paused for a moment to really look at her. Golden hair reached her shoulders, curving gently around an almost elfin face. She was of very fair skin. Indeed, she was very fair in many ways. Instead of a habit, she wore the more simple garb of a novitiate, which was better suited to her light frame.   
I probably should be dead by now. He said candidly, glancing back toward the western window. I don't swim well.  
I found you on the beach. I don't know how you came to be here. Maybe a mermaid saved you. Here she stopped for a moment, apparently embarrassed by her own words. There are still some living on the smaller islands around Ovis. When I was younger, I saw one some distance out in the waves. Her scales were bright gold...  
Alphonse felt a bit strange being privy to such information. It occurred to him that he hadn't even told this peculiar young girl his name yet. For some reason, it didn't really seem to matter. She talked idly for some time, comforting him inadvertently with the sound of her voice. While she spoke, she went about removing his tunic deftly, changing the bandages over his arrow wound with him nearly none the wiser. Finished, she eyed him critically.  
She said at last. You look much more presentable. You have a guest already. She's been here for two days, waiting for you to recover.  
Two days?!He burst out at last. How long have I been unconscious? Instead of answering him, she went to the door and exited, giving him a discreet smile as she did so. A taller woman, resplendent in red armor that contrasted with her gray eyes and raven hair, took her place.   
So the young Knight lives. She laughed. It was an interesting sound, neither grating or condescending. It was simply...kind. When he didn't reply she came closer to his side. Her hand found his brow and she left it there for a moment, guiding him back into the soft billows around him. I've made quite a journey for your sake, young man. Might I trouble you for a name?  
He said grudgingly, wondering what exactly was going on. Alphonse Loeher.  
A good name. Well, Alphonse, I am known as Ivanna of Ranaculus.  
His breath hissed between his teeth at the mention of the northern province. Then you are a knight of the White Fang?  
I was at one time. Her voice was much more measured and patient than his would have been if he had been asked such a question. It was futile not to admit that.   
But that was some time in the past. I assume you must be part of the new Order that landed here three days ago. Am I correct?  
Alphonse only nodded, still puzzled by her presence here and her apparent interest in him. Something didn't feel quite normal, though he was inclined to trust Ivanna against his better judgment. Maybe it was the way she spoke, or the look in her eyes. She remained at his side for the next few hours, helping him garb himself while giving him small tidbits of information about the island and its inhabitants. He learned, for example, that Anser had no military force of its own since the Reformation, but the Lord Protector of Ranaculus still maintained a rather impressive army and held it at his personal disposal. The White Fang troop was only the offensive branch of this force, and the farther Alphonse ventured, the more likely he was to encounter the current Duke.  
All of these things are by the by. She said at last. I'd heard from men in strange armor in port Scabellum that they had lost a comrade in the storm and were looking for him. It seems it was my good fortune to find you first. When you feel you are up to it, we will venture north together if you wish it so.  
Rictor was searching for him. he should have known that it would happen. Thinking of nothing else to say, he accepted her offer as graciously as he could manage. From her bearing, he deemed Ivanna would be a Knight to be reckoned with, no matter with whom her loyalties lay. As the day began to ebb, Alphonse sought out Eleanor.  
You'll be leaving then? Was all she said at first, her eyes on the ocean rather than on him. You have a difficult road ahead of you. I don't suppose we'll see each other again...  
Who knows what God has in store for us? He replied lightly. Thank Father Hamen for me, please. He said, naming the priest of the church who he had yet to meet. He was nearly Eleanor's stepfather, or so she had told him, but he hadn't the opportunity to see the man.If by some chance we happen this way again, I'll be certain to come see you, but I think we both know better than to make idle promises. He was afraid he might upset her with this last statement, but she only smiled and let him kiss her hand.  
  
With that, he sought out Ivanna and they made their way north under the last stable rays of the sun. Alphonse was expecting the distance to be much greater than it was in actuality, which was by no means an unpleasant surprise. They traveled on foot along the small road that led from Solea to the rest of the island, reaching the port city of Scabellum as the sun began to die at last, encompassed by the horizon and the assortment of clouds that hurried to obscure it. The wind headed in a generally southern direction, but there was enough of a brine-laden tang in it to suggest it had borrowed a bit of its potency from the ocean, or the Esperar sea. It wasn't important which was correct, because the main of his focus was locked on one woman, who stood patiently in the center of the main road through Scabellum. With her were two male soldiers and one run down, tired looking archer. The village, with its quaint cottages tiered neatly on the hillsides would have been serene but for the ominous air these four added so effectively to their surroundings.  
The woman in the village's center said little more than her name, Mullin, and that she had been sent to kill Alphonse. Why am I not surprised?' He thought tiredly, freeing his short sword while Ivanna drew close.  
A knight from Ranaculus, obviously. Her voice was a dry whisper, blending and almost lost within the anger of the wind. Likely a spell-caster, from the look of her. The soldiers will protect her until she can strike us with her magic, but if you can get close enough, a sword could answer her. Will you trust me to fight with you?  
Not exactly pleased with the way things were turning out, Alphonse had no choice but to agree. Ivanna drew her own long sword and stood at Alphonse's side, suddenly much more intimidating than he would have thought possible. The stained light that managed to break past the brink of the coming storm made her nearly glow, increasing the majesty she radiated.  
You will not pass through here. The woman said at length, the soldiers around her tensing. To your dismay, you will learn that no mere warrior can be a match for an enchanter of my quality. Prepare to leave this mortal coil!  
Why his life seemed to be turning into one endless battle, Alphonse didn't care to say. These last few days were setting a rather unhealthy precedent for the rest of his stay on Ovis. If he lived through this and could rejoin his battalion, perhaps things would start to look up. He leapt to one side and an arrow shaft grazed his arm. Then again,' he thought, maybe not.'  
  
The worry, it seemed, was warranted. He berated himself for underestimating the four soldiers as he found himself against a wall, lashing out against pikes and spears with his feeble short sword. Ivanna was faring only marginally better, having been struck in the knee, the weak point in her armor, after overpowering and finishing off the smaller of the two men. Mullin was living up to her earlier threats, having decimated a nearby tree and a stack of crates with her long range lightning magic. Fortunately for them, her aim was exceptionally poor. The crates still blazed merrily, but Alphonse glanced at them quickly, confused by what he thought he'd seen there.  
Rictor called, emerging from the east behind the burning wreckage. With him was Orson Lamies. The old archer, who was Rictor's advisor and a crewman on the voyage, held his long bow out in front of him, stretched to full length and ready to fire. Thank God we've found you!  
At last. It was Mullin's voice that bridged the gap between the three parties in the village, her staff readied in her hands. Rictor Lasanti, High Priest of Felis. How nice of you to join us. Surrender to me quietly and I may let your little friend leave here alive...  
Then you must be one of the hired hands of the Lord of Ranaculus. Rictor replied, sneering contemptuously at the woman. I should have known.  
  
  
Ollen70: Yeah, it's a weird place to leave off, but the next chapter should be up within a few days. Let me know what you think of it so far, alright?  
  



End file.
